


Somewhere Irresponsible

by orphan_account



Series: Yangu AU Bingo [2]
Category: K-pop, Pentagon (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Arguing, Denial of Feelings, Feelings, Getting Together, Growing Pains, Growing Up, Growing Up Together, High School, M/M, Slice of Life, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, dumb teenagers, too many fucking feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 23:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11702487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Class President and all-around golden boy Yeo Changgu had always assumed he was the one dragging actual human vegetable Yanan through life, but it turns out he may have had it the other way around.





	Somewhere Irresponsible

“And that’s how my mom broke out of jail.” Changgu hears Yanan finish. He turns to see Yanan wave goodbye to another guy in a fancy suit, before coming up and collapsing in the booth across from Changgu. “Give me your fries.” There’s a tuft of air that escapes from the black pleather seats as Yanan sinks into them, head stood up on the straight line his right forearm makes

“Hey, you should stop spreading rumors about yourself; they’re getting out of hand.” Changgu responds, too startled to react when Yanan steals said fries. “And is your meeting already over?”

“Our internship director is a vegetarian so I had to eat a fucking bush for dinner.” Yanan ignores the greeting, and dips a clawful of ten fries into ketchup, around six of the ten fries actually reaching the ketchup, before shoving them in his mouth and leaving a ring of the red sauce near his right lip.

“Did you actually eat? I don’t think I’ve seen you eat a plant since like… 2002.”

“She was paying.” Yanan shrugs. “It would have been rude. My meeting didn’t end early; you probably lost track of time during rehearsal again.”

“Did your meeting go well? Does it seem like a lot of work?”

“Everyone’s been nice to me since they found out my dad owned a factory.” Yanan nods. “It seems okay, not much more work than adding another class. I didn’t know you in 2002.”

“But I’ve heard rumors.” Changgu laughs at the deepening scowl in Yanan’s eyes. “Tales of Yanan and the carrot. And epoch of grand proportions.”

“Did you download the next episode of LA Typewriter?” Yanan changes the subject, pulling his laptop out of his backpack.

“It’s Chicago, dammit. Nope.”

“Which one are we on? 8?” Yanan continues, and splotch of red sauce is still there. His tongue peeks out, but retreats after swiping at the left side of his bottom lip.

“12.” Changgu corrects. “We started at 8 yesterday and you ended up ordering pizzas when we were done eating so we could keep watching because you didn’t want to do your accounting shit.”

“I like pizza.” Yanan nods, eyes glazing over as he browses for download links.

Changgu finally just does it, reaching across the table and seeing Yanan’s gaze dart to his encroaching finger before returning back to the screen, unfazed. He frowns when Changgu ends up smearing the ketchup up his cheek though, glaring at the offending finger across the top of his screen.

"You look like the Joker now.” Changgu explains, licking his finger clean and stealing back his fries.

 

  
* * *

 

  
Between the two of them, everyone had thought Changgu would be the one with the practical major, because he’s the one who’s good at things. Not to say Yanan is incompetent, but while Changgu was class rep from elementary school, striking a balance between refusing to snitch while keeping his classmates in line, Yanan strikes that balance between being disruptively uncomfortable to the point of suspension and innocently awkward--in high school, he told his career counselor that he wanted to be a gynecologist so she would stop pestering him to fill out a Future Plans form. The latter was well known for ditching class up until high school too, and could be found in the canteen playing video games more often than not.

“Not even cool video games.” Middle school Shinwon complains, balancing six triangle kimbap in the crook of his arm. “I was expecting GTA or something. I snuck out of maths to see what he was up to once last year, but he was playing Animal Crossing on a DS.”

“Animal Crossing? That’s still a thing?” Changgu responds, grabbing a salmon roe triangle before it jumps out of Shinwon’s arms as the lanky upperclassmen nods vigorously.

“I swear it was animal crossing, the guy was fishing okay. I’m surprised you don’t know him though, isn’t he in your class?” Shinwon snatches the triangle back from Changgu, only to make three more fall out of his arms. He sighs, cutting the younger off. “Can we sit down?”

Shinwon doesn’t really have anything to say, and neither does Hyunggu who joins them at the sight of Shinwon’s kimbap wealth. “Why are you asking us?”

“I was just curious why he’s never in class.” Changgu shrugs, easing into the lie when Shinwon and Hyunggu take it at face value.

“As expected, future class president Yeo Changgu!” Hyunggu cheers in response, earning a whoop from across the canteen and some scattered cheers.

The actual reason Changgu asks is because he’d caught Yanan digging through his gym class cubby last Friday.

“The fuck are you doing?!” Changgu had screamed, the sight of a gangly upperclassmen with his boxers in one hand and uniform thrown across the other shoulder making him forget where he was.

“Huh?” Latter-to-be-known-as-Yanan had looked up, and nodded when he saw Changgu. “Hi. I’m Yanan.”

“Are you stealing my stuff?” Changgu had continued, flabbergasted when Yanan didn’t set his clothes down, but rather continued to dig through his duffel bag.

“I’m looking for my phone.” Yanan explained.

“I don’t have your phone.” Changgu retorted, stepping forward to rip his clothes off the human coat rack Yanan was turning into and stuff them back into his duffel.

“I took a nap on this bench.” Yanan continues, sitting down, unfazed as Changgu flutters about trying to restore some sense of order. “And I was too lazy to put my phone in my pocket.”

“Okay?”

“But right before blacking out, I remembered that I put my phone somewhere irresponsible. Somewhere not normal.” Yanan turns and grabs at Changgu’s duffel bag when he sees the other about to leave. “Can I finish looking through your bag?”

“I already said that I don’t have your phone.” Changgu sighs, trying and failing to yank the bag out of Yanan’s grip.

“You see, that’s why I’m looking there.” Yanan explains, standing to fish through the side pocket of the duffel. Right when Changgu is about to put his entire 52kg into escaping the madman pulls an iPhone 4 out of the duffel. “There it is!”

“What.”

“Goodnight.” Yanan responds, sliding the phone into the pocket of his track pants before laying down on the locker room bench again.

The phone, encouraged simultaneously by gravity and the smoothness of Yanan’s track pants to slide out of the sixth year’s pocket and onto the ground, where the glass screen cracks with a crisp sound as it hits the tile floor.

Changgu leaves before he can see Yanan’s reaction.

 

  
* * *

 

  
It’s not that Changgu has never asked Yanan why he chose to study something so… practical, but every time he does he’s brushed off and redirected efficiently. Even with other people, Changgu’s heard Yanan give reasons from “I want to be Chinese Tony Stark” to “It’s time to make a stand against the corporate greed’s hold on democracy.” Maybe he’s just being too direct though.

“We’re getting old.” Changgu leads, groaning when he gets up off the couch to stretch after episode 13, neck cracking far louder than he can fake it when he turns back to look at Yanan.

“Speak for yourself.” Yanan responds. “I’ll always be younger than you at least.”

“Brat.” Changgu snorts. “I’m already having trouble pulling all nighters now. What are we going to do in twenty years.” At that Yanan jolts up, the man who stares despondently at the single step it takes to walk from the street into Starbucks forgotten.

“I’ve thought about this a lot.” Yanan says, elbows resting on his thighs as he leans over with his somber eyebrows on. “In twenty years I’ll be 41, right?”

“This accounting class is really paying off.”

“And when I’m 41, you’ll be 41. And you’ll be some big shot actor but you can’t act in idol dramas anymore, so you’ll star in these daytime soap operas pretending to be 10 years younger with startup actresses pretending to be 10 years older, and when you introduce me to them, they’re going to think I’m their age and still want to fuck me.” Yanan lays out, bringing his hands together so the tips touch as he nods. “Armed with retinoids, plastic surgery, and tikki… tikki punch? Tikka masalas? I will be a intergenerational sex icon. This is what I will amount to.”

‘He wants to fuck 20 year olds,’ is probably the first thing that should cross Changgu’s mind, but instead he’s picturing what it would be like to work on a set at 40. To not be in an office, but flying around Korea, flying around the world, filming. Meeting people like Kim Soohyun and Yoo Inna, 40 hour days, fan meetings in the States, being broadcast straight to the television in the home of the grandfather he hasn’t seen in seven years.

“I’m honoured.” Changgu laughs. Even as a declared second year theatre major, he half expects himself to have a midlife crisis and switch into some engineering track before graduation. It’s a miracle in itself that it didn’t happen as a first year.

“Dumbass.” Yanan huffs, sadder than he probably means, and Changgu believes in eye contact but the weight of the other’s gaze is too heavy for now. “If you keep giving up on yourself prematurely, your dad will be out of a job!” Yanan exclaims, heading to the kitchen to grab juice, probably. He believes in the savoury-sweet-savoury-sweet never ending chain of food.

“Um-”

“What about you?” Yanan breezes on, picking up the glass carton of overpriced organic mango nectar his mom got him hooked on as a kid. The boy’s lucky he’s studying what he is; the amount Yanan spends on food per week could probably pay for a nice high rise home in Cheongdamdong.

“I’m going to be like Yoo Ahin.” Changgu responds, staring at the screen capture teaser for episode 15 on the screen. “Yoo Ahin sunbaenim.” He tries out, wrinkling his nose when he trips over the words. “Not traditionally attractive, but talented and successful nevertheless.” Yanan doesn’t respond and sits down on the sofa again, reaching for the bag of garlic crisps on the floor.

“I can’t give an unbiased opinion on the attractive thing.” Yanan muses, barely audible over the crunching of puffed potato. “But your fans probably won’t ever have to see you trying to brush your teeth while hungover and missing for your nostril instead, so-”

“That’s it, let’s go do work with Jinho and the rest of them.” Changgu sighs, unplugging the HDMI cord from Yanan’s laptop amidst complaints and crisps being launched at his neck. “We’re not old to the point where we should sit around all day watching dramas.”

“Oh fuck off with it.” Yanan huffs, clutching his laptop to his chest as he stretches out onto the couch. “You have to carry me up the stairs to Wooseok’s dorm if we go.”

“There are three steps to the entrance.”

“All three of them.”

 

  
* * *

 

  
It’s not as if the phone incident inspired Changgu to keep in contact with Yanan, so it’s a few weeks before their paths cross again. Considering they’d attended the same school since fourth grade without a single word exchanged, this is relatively soon. Apparently, despite his inability to follow directions, respond to questions asked of him, or attend class while in the school building, Yanan’s height makes most of the sporting team coaches cry potential.

“But he’s not _that_ tall.” Changgu protests when Shinwon touched on how the basketball couch had been after both him and Yanan since fifth year.

“Coming from you…” Shinwon snorts, and Changgu kicks him.

“Yeah, but he can’t be taller than you.”

“He isn’t taller than me, but he is taller than almost everyone else at this school.” Shinwon points out. “He could comfortably use your head as a chin rest. The volleyball and football coaches are after us too.”

“Football? You don’t need to be tall to play football.” Changgu argues.

“Long legs, running faster, the whole shebang.” Shinwon rolls his eyes. “You don’t need to try and convince me Yanan is bad at sports, but he’s tall so the coaches are after him.”

It wasn’t just coaches.

“Changgu!” He hears Seunghee hiss-scream, banging on the window in his classroom during lunch period. Normally he’d be eating by the basketball courts or in the canteen, but he’d forgotten about the maths assignment due in two periods, and was copying Changkyun’s work. “Changgu! Now!”

“What it is.” Changgu groans, finishing the problem before running over to the door frame. She’s hiding her body behind it, just her eyes peering out suspiciously, despite the fact her homeroom is one room over and everyone definitely recognises her. “What do you want?”

“Who’s that.” Seunghee continues hissing, finger jabbing into Changgu’s bicep as she tries to gesture to a student in the back. “The one with the DS. Who’s that?”

“Just the word ‘DS’ brings a sense of foreboding, but when Changgu turns all the way to follow her finger, it’s definitely pointed exactly where he thinks it is.

“Yanan.” Changgu sighs, and he can’t quite remember what expression he was making when he uttered that name, but he remembers how shocked Seunghee had been shocked to see his face morph into such a shape. “What? What do you want with him?”

“Is he in any clubs? Why haven’t I seen him before? You should get him to join theatre.” Seunghee shoves him away for emphasis, before dragging him back by the arm. “He’s so tall… it’s a shame we aren’t doing a romcom.”

“What happened to artistic integrity.” Changgu snides, nearly tripping on a stray foot as she begins dragging him through the desks towards her target.

“I see your integrity and raise you a look at those fucking legs.” Seunghee retorts.

They’re unsuccessful, which Changgu doesn’t find surprising considering Yanan hasn’t joined a single class since he moved here in second grade, but Seunghee is still hopeful. Unsurprisingly, Yanan isn’t at their meeting on Thursday or the following Tuesday, but in the middle of a rehearsal that following Thursday there’s a loud thud against the door before it’s yanked open, Yanan leaps in, and then slams it again, cutting off what sounds like Instructor Jung’s cries of “Ball is life!”

“Hi.” Yanan says, every eye in the room on him. He’s breathing heavily, and wiping at his temples with his uniform sleeves.

“Hi Yanan.” Seunghee greets, Cheshire smile breaking on her face. She turns to smirk at Changgu, who looks away just in time to feign apathy.

“I’m Yanan.” Yanan continues. Maybe he got lost on the way to the bathroom, Changgu hopes.

“Welcome to drama club!” Seunghee cheers, to the confusion of the rest of the club.

“Welcome…” Yanan echos sliding down against the door until his ass hits the ground. He’s new here, Changgu reasons to himself. Maybe he won’t even make the cast. Maybe he’ll be backstage. Setting up would be easier with someone tall.

“Welcome!” Seunghee repeats, “We’re in the middle of rehearsal right now, but Changgu can get you sorted.”

“Fucking teenage girl hormones.” Changgu mutters, walking over to Yanan.

“Gym guy.” Yanan greets, and Changgu is starting to take it personally that his name hasn’t been deemed important enough to remember.

Changgu goes into this whole mentor-ship experience with unfounded dread and no dearth or annoyance, but they’re only eleven years old, and with an age appropriate neural flexibility relationships change easily.

Yanan is someone who remembers concepts better than facts, meaning his attempts to memorise script have Changgu between actually laughing out loud with his adlibs and collapsing under the stress of failing his protege. Seunghee, with the support of most female club members, wants to give the lead to Yanan, because concepts of artistic integrity and emoting are lost on a lot of self-governing preteens who joined this elective to play dress up and run around without supervision. Changgu half-heartedly helps Yanan run through lines despite wanting the lead role himself, but after a couple of weeks of staying after cram school to watch Yanan trip over the script, he becomes furious.

“I haven’t been home before ten in a week!” Changgu moans, standing up and flinging his ddeokbokki skewer at the ground. “I haven’t seen an episode of Music Bank live in two weeks!” He spins around to glare at Yanan, takes a moment to notice he’s never seen Yanan’s shocked expression before, before grabbing the lapels of his dress shirt. “I am not suffering for you to half ass this! You are going to get the part even if I have to murder everyone else auditioning!”

“If you acted like this more often, you’d probably get stuck with cleaning duty less.” Yanan notes, buttoning his shirt back up after Changgu’s calmed down.

“I don’t mind cleaning duty.” Changgu responds. “It’s something I should do as class president.” He smiles more when Yanan looks unimpressed.

“You smile too much.” Yanan responds, moving from the chair to the ground so he can lean against a desk leg.

“I have a resting smile.” Changgu concedes.

“But when you get angry you just smile more,” Yanan adds, “and when you get frustrated or lie you do the same thing. You probably smile instead of crying too.”

“Um.” Changgu startles, and wincing when he feels himself smile wider on reflex. “I-”

“But some people are just born to be pushovers.” Yanan smiles back at Changgu, laughing when Changgu’s grin instinctively grows larger for a second before he morphs his lips into a scowl.

Changgu wants to stab him with a pencil.

 

  
* * *

 

  
Yanan is relatively well known in the business department for that one time he stood up in an upper level consulting course and used an article from Cosmopolitan Korea titled “10 Reasons Going Bisexual Will Further Your Business Prospects” to argue with the professor’s graphs about how upper level management scandals affected the corporation’s stocks. Story had gotten around, and Yanan has an endearing straght-forwardness punctuated with intentional silences that makes him well received. That straight forwardness is why he doesn’t interact with the startup minded sector of campus very often, inserting himself amongst Changgu's theatre folk so well most of the minions Hwitaek adopts don’t realise Yanan isn’t one of them.

Second semester their second year, Yanan had shown up to one of their gaming sessions at Hongseok’s apartment with Senior named Jinho in tow.

Everyone had assumed they would start dating, or that Yanan was at least interested. It wasn’t that Yanan hadn’t introduced them to any of his other friends before, but more along the lines Changgu was pretty sure he didn’t have any other friends. He hadn’t known how to approach Jinho for a while, their conversations lulling after the current humidity levels had been confirmed, but they soon found their music tastes were similar and had even gone to The Weekend’s concert in Seoul together when the band was on a World Tour.

What everyone wasn’t expecting, however, was for Jinho to go through a quarter life crisis during senior year, switch from his accounting track to the performance choir program, and start casually sleeping with Hongseok.

“Did you know?” Changgu had asked, when the two were on their way home from the dinner Hongseok had treated the gang too after Jinho’s announcement.

“It was pretty obvious.” Yanan shrugged. “Their secret signal was one of Jinho hyung’s beanies.”

“What?”

“If Jinho hyung was up for it he’d leave his beanie at Hongseok hyung’s apartment, and then sneak back so they could fuck.” Yanan explained. “They were actually pretty subtle,”

“Yanan I wasn’t talking about that.” Changgu sighed.

“So you don’t want to know how I figured it out?” Yanan retorted, and smiled at Changgu’s petulant grimace and wiggling his eyebrows.

“Jinho hyung probably just told you. You two are always going to those networking parties together.” Changgu huffed.

“Yeah, nothing gets a scout’s attention like details of your sex life.” Yanan teased. “Nope. It was actually Hwitaek hyung who found them! He forgot, as in actually forgot, that giant heat pack he uses for his back on Hongseok’s couch, and when he went back to grab it-”

“Yeah, okay, that’s enough. Back to Jinho’s major.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to know?” Yanan questioned, with a patronisingly innocent expression.

“I’m sure.” Changgu announced. He was determined to be mature about the whole thing.

“Even if they were _using_ the heat pack?” Yanan continued, and got socked in the side for his troubles. “Fine, fine, whatever. I didn’t know Jinho would switch schools. He didn’t tell me.”

“Really? The only friend in your department you’ve made turns out to be a closeted theatre nerd?” Changgu presses. “You don’t have some sort of sixth sense?”

“We all have more than five senses.” Yanan had suddenly started lecturing. “Sense of time, sense of distance, sense of-”

“Yeah, okay.” Changgu rolled his eyes. “I know I already asked, but you didn’t have a crush on him either?”

“I still don’t get why everyone thinks that.” Yanan shrugged. “I’m not lying! You can tell when I’m lying. I’m not lying.” Yanan repeated, hand coming up to grip Changgu’s shoulder so he could better stare into the other’s eyes. “Not lying.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Changgu acquiesced. “Why did you introduce him to us then?”

“I already told you, a sunbae from the marketing club introduced us at lunch.”

“Well what happened at lunch?” Changgu pressed on. “Did a cherub land on his shoulder? Did the clouds break open and the light of God shine down on his face?”

“Still not in love with him.” Yanan sighed. “We just ate. Talked. He paid, though, at the end.”

So that’s it.

“Sunbae kept talking shit about how manly it would be if the hoobae paid since my dad owns a factory and all that, but Jinho hit the guy with his wallet to shut him up.” Yanan’s voice drifted off at the end, Changgu unconsciously leaning closer to catch the end. “It reminded me of all the ddeokbokk you bought after theatre club in high school.” Yanan continues, eyes running through the trees before he fixes his gaze on Changgu again.

The lamppost behind Yanan is blinding.

“If that’s you trying to get me to buy you ice cream you can fuck right on off.” Changgu rolled his eyes, and stomped off. “Your stomach is an endless pit.”

They’re silent for another two to three blocks, and the air is nice right before sunset. In another half hour or so all the street lights will turn on.

“Okay, fine! I can’t do this anymore—finish the story about Hwitaek’s heat pad.”

 

  
* * *

 

  
“Teacher?” Yanan breaks the silence, unbothered or oblivious to the dirty looks he gets around the library.

“Keep your voice down.” Changgu replies, with more principle than weight. “The librarian hates you enough, don’t you think?”

“You want to be a teacher?” Yanan continues, from where he’s elbow deep in going through the papers in Changgu’s backpack.

“That’s what it says, isn’t it?” Changgu shrugs. He doesn’t know why Yanan is surprised; nobody else was. “I’m guessing your adviser is still running around trying to get you to fill out your future form?”

“Nah, I filled it out.” Yanan responds, opening his otherwise seemingly empty school bag to pull out a single sheet of paper. He hands it over, Changgu taking it casually despite the fact he’s dying to know what’s written down. He skims through the short answer questions about what you learned throughout high school, in search of the prospective career portion, and promptly chokes on tongue when he finds it.

“Gynecologist?! Yan fucking An what the fuck are you on?!” Changgu rasps, throat still sore. “You wrote ‘gynecologist?’”

“That’s what it says, isn’t it?” Yanan snides, scrunching up his nose with Changgu groans.

“Do you know how hard it is to be a gynecologist?”

“Not really.”

“You have to do well on your entrance exams, you have to go to a good university, you have to get into a good med school, you have to do rotations for more than a year, you have to take another exam, you have to get a practicing license, you have to-”

“What the fuck Changgu.” Yanan interrupts, gaze judging. “Why do you know so much about this? Do you want to be a gynecologist?”

“Everyone knows what it’s like to be a doctor! Why did you put gynecologist down?!”

“So she’d stop asking me questions about it.” Yanan replies, shaking his bangs out of his eyes. “I mean what would the follow up questions be? ‘What inspired you to want to be knuckle deep in vagina's all day?’”

“She’s probably ask you what score you wanted on your placement exam.” Changgu argues. “Because there’s no way you’re going to get into any med schools the way you are.”

“Hey now,” Yanan snaps, “I have all of high school to start going to class. I am perfectly capable of going to whatever school you end up at.”

“I’ll look forward to that.” Changgu laughs.

“But teacher.” Yanan jabs his finger into the offending letters on the form. “You don’t want to be a teacher.”

“Of course I want to be a teacher.” Changgu replies. “That’s why I wrote gyne-I mean teacher.”

“I can’t picture you as a teacher.” Yanan glares, from across the table, as if this is Changgu’s fault. “I can’t picture you as a gynecologist more actually, if that was a Freudian slip.”

“I don’t want to be a teach-I mean gynecologist! I mean gynecologist. Teacher yes.” Changgu groans, sliding down in his chair until his legs are under Yanan’s seat and he can just see half of the other’s face above the table ledge.

“If you say so.” Yanan is still skeptical.

“What do you picture me as then?” Changgu replies, sliding back up his seat when the back of his neck starts to feel sore.

“What do you picture me as then?” Yanan parrots, pursing his lips until his mouth is the size of a 500 won coin and his voice sounds like Detective Conan’s.

“What is it then?” Changgu questions, growing more and more curious with every unamused sideye Yanan throws his way.

“What is it then?”

“Yanan, c’mon.”

“Yanan, c’mon.”

“I swear to god-”

“An actour of course, what do you mean ‘what do you see me as?’” Yanan replies, bewildered.

“When did I say I wanted to be an actour?”

“Um, with every exhale?” Changgu is starting to feel a bit sulky with the way Yanan stares down at him. “You’re always talking ‘artistic integrity’ while Somin talks about how fun it would be to perform Romeo and Juliet in drag.”

“That’s not me wanting to be an actour, that’s me having some semblance of self preservation.”

“You gave me the main part even though you wanted it too, just because you thought I fit it more.” Yanan continues. “You’re also the only one who ever has their lines memorised before the performance. And the only one who argues with Seunghee when she says we should just tape the script to the ground.”

“It’s just a hobby Changgu shrugs, shifting in his seat.

“Me wanting to beat Shinwon hyung at Creed is a hobby.” Yanan disagrees. “Shinwon hyung wanting to fit an entire block of ramen into his mouth at once is a hobby. You wanting to act is a dream.”

 _“That’s so childish.”_ Changgu thinks to himself, flinching at the word ‘dream.’ The matter of fact tone in Yanan’s voice keeps Changgu for saying as much.

“Once I get to high school I’ll probably be busier.” Changgu shrugs, opening his notebook again and hoping Yanan drops the subject. “I might not even join theatre elective in high school.”

“Right.” Yanan snorts, but relents. “We’ll see about that.”

It takes Changgu another three hours to finish his coursework, majority of which Yanan spends sleeping, and when he’s done he wakes the other up so they can head out. Normally they head to a popular cafe near Changgu’s house for takoyaki and cola, but Yanan has a dinner to go to so they wait together for his chauffeur at the back entrance.

“Can you hold this?” Yanan asks, sliding the uniform off his back and handing it to Changgu, who hangs it off his head while Yanan pulls a wrinkly black blazer and matching loafers out of his school bag.

“Couldn’t you at least fold it properly?” Changgu chides, trying to smooth out the sleeves at least while Yanan slides into his shoes without untying the laces.

“Not like my old man will be able to tell.” Yanan shrugs. “I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t actually pick you up instead.”

“You’ll be able to see your mom again though, right? Is she back from Singapore?” Changgu questions, remember Yanan mentioning something about a family dinner during chemistry a few days ago.

“No, she’s still in Singapore. Maybe Indonesia now.” Yanan corrects.

“Is it just you and your dad then?”

“My dad, some uncles, and whoever they’re both sleeping with currently. Maybe a few cousins.” Yanan replies.

Oh.

Changgu means to greet Mr. Yan when a black sedan drives up for Yanan, but Yanan forcibly shoves him on his way, waving goodbye before sliding into the backseat and quickly shutting the door.

He tries not to think on the walk back, but after he gets home Changgu changes into slippers and finds his mom watching Seven Princesses on TV.

“Changgu-yah, come with me.” She insists, grabbing at his wrist while he tries to dodge and bolt into his room.

“I’m tired mom!”

“You’re missing a good part!”

“Mom, I just want to go to bed!”

“Your dad told me this was going to happen.” She fake sniffles, dramatically reaching a finger to her eye. “That you’d grow up, start spending all your time with girls, and leave your poor old mother to bite the dust.”

“I was with Yanan!” Changgu whines. “I’m not in the mood for dramas, okay? Tell me all about it breakfast tomorrow morning!” He calls over his shoulder, escaping her grasp, but not fast enough to miss the snort and “As if you’ll be awake for breakfast” she snides.

After brushing his teeth for the full 120 seconds and washing his hand for the full 90, Changgu’s got nothing to do but think as he stares at the dimly lit ceiling in his room.

He thinks about how stressful and angry he gets every time they get a new script, about how no one else could give half a shit and he has to do everything himself. About how Seunghee still has the final say for all of their decisions, the club voting her president since he’s ‘scary’ and ‘takes everything to seriously’ and is ‘no fun.’ About how the only reason he’d been trying to reign his temper in recently is the fact Yanan’s taken to feeding him peanut taffy every time he starts screaming during a meeting, forcing him to shut up and calm down in the time it takes him to finish chewing.

He thinks about how everything he feels just melts away with every ray of stage light that strikes him when he’s performing, or even rehearsing. About how the stress, the anxieties, how everything seems to slip away during a monologue. About how he’d liken stepping on stage to his should shedding layers, walking free.

He thinks about how even Yanan had an ear-splitting grin on after their last performance. It’d taken a place in the canteen—some tables shoved aside for a makeshift, creaky wooden stage—with not even 100 parents and family and friends seated on fold down chairs and no actual lighting. Despite that, the clearest memory Changgu has is of Yanan smiling through clouds of ripped printer paper (that Hyunggu had shredded in lieu of actual confetti), eyes twinkling, bangs moist with excitement, amidst a loud Psy song playing in the background and the other club members celebrating.

Maybe if Changgu had also looked like that, he could understand why Yanan had said what he did.

 

  
* * *

 

  
Changgu is having one of those days.

He’s got an annoying cramp in his lower back, probably from when he fell asleep on the ground for a few hours after the Chicago Typewriter finale. It’s not a piercing pain, but still consistently aggravating to the point where he figures he deserves some bigass cup of caffeine. He goes to some smaller local coffee shop so he can feel like he’s buying quality product even if it’s all bullshit, and spends 7000 won on a large snow mocha only to spill the entire thing—only two sips in-by tripping up the stairs to the entrance of the library.

He didn’t even need to go to the library, he just wanted to sit in the air conditioned room for a bit before continuing the trek back to the fine arts building. He tries to focus on the fact none got in his shirt, but instead he hears a shrill chanting of _“7000 won! 7000 won!_ ” in the back of his head.

His voice keeps cracking during practice, to the point where the entire team wraps it up early and tells him to drink green tea, citron tea, propolis, and he’s got this anger buzzing around in his head. It’s to the point where he does want to punch a wall, but not to the point where the relief would be worth how much his hand would hurt. There’s a vein throbbing in forehead and it’s already taking all the energy he has to smile at everyone he passes by, turning his class president facade on so he doesn’t end up doing something he regrets, so it’s not really Hwitaek hyung’s fault what happens next but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t have _minded his own goddamn business_.

“Hey Changgu!” Hwitaek greets, face curling up like a Muppet when he smiles.

“Hi hyung!” Changgu hopes he doesn’t sound as strained as he feels. “Are you heading to class?”

“No, I was looking for you actually!” Hwitaek shakes his head, pulling some papers out of the file folder in his head. “Remember teacher’s assistant that sat in during our rehearsal for pre-col theatre?”

“Yeah, sure hyung.” Changgu nods.

“It turns out he was a casting agent! Professor Yook told me to pass this onto you because he invited us to audition for their training program but Professor said we should get an agent representative first.” Hwitaek keeps going, but Changgu’s heard enough. Hwitaek’s shoving papers into his hands, saying something something casting something callback something nine month and Changgu tries to slip away.

“This is a great opportunity!” Changgu grins, grip tightening on the sheets in his hands. “You should definitely go for it!”

“We have a meeting with some people from Im Studios tomorrow, you don’t have class in the evening right? I texted Yanan just to be sure, but I’m sure your professor would excuse you-”

“You did what?” Changgu interrupts. “You scheduled it for me?”

“Well I figured you’d want to get this set up as soon as possible. I don’t know how many other people they reached out to, but if any of them get picked up first our chances go to shit.” Hwitaek rambles on, noticing but not addressing the irritation seeping through on Changgu’s expression.

“Did you ever think to ask? Why are you just deciding things for me? Aren’t we competition at this point? Why are you signing me up for meetings? Are you my mom or something? What the fuck hyung?!” Changgu explodes, papers crinkling in his fists.

“What do you mean ‘deciding things’ for you? You’re a goddam theatre student! We go to school, we get an agent, we get casted, eventually we start making more money than we lose.” Hwitaek lectures back, clearly expecting thanks instead of whatever mess Changgu’s spewing.

“What if I don’t want that?”

“What the fuck don’t you want? What if you don’t want to work? What if you don’t want to get casted?! What are you talking about? You need to calm down. Show up for the meeting tomorrow, or don’t. Who gives a fuck.” Hwitaek all but growls, muttering under his breath about spoon feed underclassmen and ungratefulness as he walks off.

Changgu doesn’t think about what he’s going to do after graduation very often.

During his first year of uni his friends and upperclassmen were pretty understanding, affectionately buying him meat and teaching him what to wear to auditions, where to network with scouts, how to carry yourself in public, and which professors knew the most directors. His sophomore year he had still just gone through the motions, friends and career adviser questioning him with a bit more intensity, but he’s able to evade the subject by bringing up coursework or complaining about the political climate.

Now it’s Junior year though, and nothing stresses Changgu out like Yanan bringing up how there are more people younger than them at this school than there are older. He’s supposed to be guiding his underclassmen through picking classes, taking them out to lunch with money he made doing minor shoots over the summer term, speaking regularly with at least three talent agencies about future prospects, or at least be satisfied with his department.

Instead, Changgu finds himself flipping through collared shirts when they’re on sale at the local market, thinking about how he doesn’t have enough to last a week at an office, before Yanan reminds him that he doesn’t need to last a week at an office and drags him off. He signs up for practice group interviews at the career center, where the student advisors sheepishly admit they don’t know how these things work in show business, but go through the motions with him at Changgu’s insistence.

He’s done a few shoots over the summers, the highlight a Clride.n he was the feature male model in, but otherwise he spends most of his breaks working as an accounting assistant for the local car dealership. His boss as a nice old lady who brings him plum tea when he’s tired and pinches his cheeks, bemoaning how “dreams die in Seoul” and “how will any men find work if someone with your face is still an aspiring actor,” and Changgu sometimes lingers on those last two words, wondering if either of them really suit him.

This is how he lives.

He goes to courses, works on group projects, watches actors he looks up to in between and he fills out, spine straightening, shoulders rising with a sense of purpose. Then he goes to work, goes home, and thinks about how his mom hand washes dishes because dishwashers are expensive. Thinks about how his father makes weekly trips to his grandparent’s house in the countryside, a whole roast duck and half pound of sliced pig ear in tow, because he’s their first son. Thinks about he’s the first son, about how long it’s taken some people to make their start, thinks about how he’s going to support himself, let alone his aging parents, with this ‘ _dream._ ’

Changgu thinks about ditching his lit course later in the afternoon, wanting to go home and bemoan reality, but he’ll be especially useless if he can’t even manage the workload of his already useless major, so he stares off into space for 90 minutes as the professor drones on, before trekking back to his apartment and slamming his book bag into the wall as soon as the door’s safely shut behind him. Changgu’s angry enough at his back for lying on the ground to further fuck the traitorous piece of shit up to seem like a good idea. He stews on the ground, unmoving, and waiting for the source of all ill to come home.

 

  
* * *

 

  
“You don’t fucking get to decide for me.” Changgu screams, pacing angry circles into Yanan’s kitchen floor. This is a terrible place to be angry, he realises, because even shattering a cup could probably land him into a lifetime of indentured servitude.

“You applied for the theatre department yourself.” Yanan responds, solemn gaze boring into Changgu’s skull.

“You were the one who talked me into it! But I guess I’m the dumbass who was dumb enough to go along with it, so this is all my fault isn’t it.” Changgu’s voice has started oscillating between a high, crazed laugh and low hiss. “I have my entire life in front of me! My entire future! Who the fuck are you?! What the fuck do you know?!”

“Changgu, this is a good thing. You applied to a university. You got into the university.” Yanan tries one last time, but the shorter is too hysterical for logic.

“I am a first son!” Changgu screeches. “I have a family! I’m going to have another family! I need to make money! How did I let you talk me in to the theatre department of all things! Your idiocity is rubbing off on me!”

“We did get into the same university.” Yanan replies dryly, and Changgu can tell the other’s on edge, but restraining himself for Changgu’s sake.

Changgu hates that. He hates how out of control he feels, how he wants to walk the 2 day trek to the Seoul National office and switch his major if he has to, and yet he’s still in Yanan’s kitchen. He hates how conflicted he feels, how he’s determined equally in two different directions, how manic he looks in comparison to Yanan. Yanan, sitting with those fucking lanky ass legs at a marble counter surrounded by crystal cups with free trade twelve free sweetened via unicorn tears apple juice. He wants to see Yanan break, wants to see Yanan as desperate as he is, as stressed as he is, burdened with emotion to the point where he raises his voice. He hates how calm the other is, how unbothered, how Changgu seems to be the only one actually feeling things.

“It’s not about the university you fucktard.” Changgu laughs, fingers coming up to clench the air. “But how the fuck am I supposed to get you to understand? Your parents are more like financial sponsors than a family, an actual sugar daddy.” Changgu knows he’s being cruel, but when he sees Yanan react he can’t help but try to dig deeper, hit harder, until he’s not the only one feeling like this. “What do you know about being filial? What do you know about the real world? What do you know about financial responsibility? Everything is done for you, served on a platter, people like you.”

“Yeo Changgu shut the fuck up before I get angry.”

“Your life is already planned out for you, right? Well sorry for pouring out all my peasant problems.” Changgu snides, walking closer so his words resonate more loudly. “Let’s talk about you then, to keep things fresh? Your daddy paid your way into a decent high school, into a decent exam score, into a decent university, and after you get some fancy business job where someone else does all the hard thinking for you. Then your daddy will pay someone to marry you, pay your secretary to get an abortion when you knock the bitch up, and you’ll laze around drink yourself a beer belly until whores can’t reach your sad little cock anymore, and then die because you have nothing more to live for.”

“And so what.” Yanan mutters, so softly Changgu almost misses the fact Yanan’s crying, too busy trying to read his lips.

All the anger inside him, the tension, the years of repressed fury, all start to melt and Yanan is sputtering, lost again, trying to simultaneously to cling onto both Yanan and anger and not being able to grasp either. “What the mean ‘so what’ you ignorant fuck? I’m-”

“So what if I don’t have a dad.” Yanan continues, still whispering, but the phrase hits Changgu hard enough to shut him up. “So what if my dad and mom can’t be in the same room for more than ten seconds? So what if my mom can’t even remember my name? If my dad’s girlfriend is closer to my age than his, if he offers to share her with me when he’s drunk, if she tries to touch me in my sleep, if as of two weeks ago I’m not even sure if he’s my dad?”

“Don’t make this about you.” Changgu replies, trying to sound impenitent and coming off pleading instead.

“I don’t know how to keep track of money.” Yanan rambles on, nose scrunching while he sniffles. “I think my uncle poisoned my grandfather for his inheritance so I don’t know my grandparents. I don’t have morals, I don’t have passions, and the only reason I don’t come home and play games as soon as school ends is because you’d probably stop talking to me.”

“I want to go home.” Changgu tells the cabinets, averting his eyes, overheating in uniform.

“But if that good for nothing sperm donour can go around all day doing whatever the fuck he wants, without any concern for he fucks up, then why can’t you?” Yanan is speaking at a more audible volume now, standing up and paddling over to Changgu, despite the latter’s backward steps. “If he gets to ignore his kid, his wife, his sense of human conscious, and do whatever the fuck he does all day, then why don’t you? You’re perfect.” Yanan finishes, voice breaking on the last syllable as he glides forward until they’re just centimeters apart.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we all had the money for that.” Changgu mutters, strangely sheepish, incredibly embarrassed, and wriggling uncomfortably until the hand Yanan lifts to cup his cheek causes him to still.

“You deserve to do what you want.” Yanan argues, eyes glassy.

Changgu never submits his transfer request.

 

  
* * *

 

  
Yanan comes home at around five in the afternoon, surprising Changgu.

“ _Four to Six: Properties of Successful FDI’s._ ” Changgu thinks to himself, recalling Yanan’s schedule, and watching soundlessly as Yanan slips his loafers off carefully, lines them up next to Changgu’s, and hangs his book bag on the hook instead of tossing it like he usually does. Hwitaek hyung must have said something then.

“Hey, you’re home already?” Yanan asks, spotting Changgu on the floor, and walks over to sit next to him.

Changgu doesn’t say anything, despite the fact he’s been practicing for the last couple of hours. He’s run through some of the angrier monologues he has on file from theatre courses, considered just screaming in response every time Yanan said something, and contemplated another rant about Yanan’s tragic home life. Now that the hours have gone on, and the sun is starting take on red and purple tones, and Yanan’s home, Changgu feels lethargic. It seems like too much effort to raise his voice, to project, to tense up, when he’d really just be arguing with himself.

“You’re a dumbass.” Is what Changgu comes up with, after a watching Yanan sit down, as the man drinks from a water bottle.

Yanan simply nods.

“You’re always telling me to follow me dreams and all that shit. That it’s more important than being a good son.”

“You’re not a bad son though.” Yanan amends.

“What would you know about being a good son.” Changgu replies, a latent excitement erupting briefly when Yanan tenses. “I mean you know what I mean, right? You’re always so confident too, jackass. Why are you so insistent?”

It takes Yanan a few moments, and couple more sips of water, to respond.

“If a dumb ass like myself,” Yanan starts, “who knows as little about love as you say would jump off a cliff before seeing the smile you have while performing die in a dead end office job, then I’d imagine the parents who gave you life would feel the same.” Yanan finishes, throwing his water bottle onto the couch, before sliding down on the floor until his legs are parallel to Changgu’s, their eyes staring into each others’.

Yanan has always been difficult to ignore.

It was hard enough resisting thin, awkward high school Yanan, who had insisted he knew what he wanted with shitty posture and limbs he hadn’t grown into yet. Who had cupped Changgu’s chin in his hand, grip soft and gaze hard. Who trailed after Changgu from middle school, to high school, to university. Yanan who had laughed at Changgu’s fake smiles, sneered at his false praise, and had dragged him out of his class president shell kicking and screaming. Who was there even when Changgu exploded, taking the blows in stride. Who’s time Changgu had learned to monopolise, because even one day spent apart left him gasping for air.

Yanan now is even more present, shines even more, stares at him even more lovingly, gaze even more darling.

Changgu can’t hang back for much longer.

“You’re going to in a deadbeat office job.” Changgu mutters in response, trying to shift his gaze but his eyes not cooperating.

“Maybe that’s what I want.” Yanan raises an eyebrow.

“You want to end up in a deadbeat office job?”

“Nope. Try again.” Yanan is unamused.

“Why did you want to major in business?” Changgu is clinging to the last of his futile resistance.

“Try again.” Yanan repeats.

“What… what do you want?” Changgu huffs.

“I want to beat Shinwon hyung at Creed.” Yanan starts, throwing a leg over Changgu when he sees the shorter trying to turn away. “I want you to take me seriously for once.” Yanan continues. “I want you to do what you want, not what you think your parents would want, and I want you to stop worrying about money. So if I have to make a backup hoard of cash for you to do it, then so be it.

“What-”

“But most importantly,” Yanan insists, scooting closer until they’re basically lying on top of each other, “I want to be there when you do it. Right next to you, behind you, beside you, doesn’t matter.”

Changgu lets Yanan’s lips approach, lets his eyes shutter close, lets himself want this.

 

  
* * *

 

  
“Is that the new guy?” Changgu hears someone whisper behind him, from when he’s stretching and waiting for the stunt coach to arrive.

“Who the fuck else would that be?” Mystery Man Number Two hisses, slapping his friend on the head to shush him.

“Did you hear about where he lives?” Number One continues.

“Where does he live?”

“I don’t remember, but I remember it was somewhere irresponsible. Seocho? Gangnam? Who gives a fuck, he’s either a loaded jackass or trying way too fucking hard.”

Changgu figures this is an opportune time as ever to channel his inner Yanan, and spins around to face the two with a bright smile.

“Nice to meet you! I was cast just yesterday; you can call me Yeo One.”


End file.
